


Prompt 17: A For Effort

by irrationalgame



Series: Thommy Comfortween Prompts [17]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:14:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27069967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irrationalgame/pseuds/irrationalgame
Summary: Comfortween prompts from https://hurtcomfortex.dreamwidth.org/22946.html17. A for EffortAwkward comfort, terrible at comfort and trying anyway.When Thomas gets bad news Jimmy tries to comfort him. Jimmy’s not very good at being comforting.
Relationships: Thomas Barrow/Jimmy Kent
Series: Thommy Comfortween Prompts [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949317
Comments: 4
Kudos: 47





	Prompt 17: A For Effort

**Author's Note:**

> Can’t believe I’ve done this for seventeen days 😬 thanks all for reading, commenting and leaving kudos! Fourteen days to go!

When Thomas received the letter over breakfast Jimmy could see that something was wrong. He’d spent enough time watching Thomas over the years they’d been friends to know by the draw of his eyebrows and the downturn of his lips that he was worried. Thomas frowned at the envelope, turning it over in his hands; the address had been neatly typed on the front and the heavyweight paper had the look of something official. It was sealed with an old-fashioned wax stamp and postmarked from the Greater Manchester area. The under-butler didn’t open it at the breakfast table but instead stuffed it into his jacket pocket for later, as was his custom whenever he received mail. It always made Jimmy curious about what sort of mail he received that necessitated it being read in private.

“Everything alright?” Jimmy asked, pouring Thomas a cup of tea.

“I don’t know,” Thomas replied, “I’ll tell you once I’ve read it.”

  
All morning Jimmy thought about Thomas and the Mystery Envelope. When he was supposed to be serving or polishing or tidying he ran theories through his mind. Thomas was from the Manchester area so maybe it was from family? But he never spoke of his relatives and they definitely never wrote. So perhaps it was bad news? Whatever it was had made Thomas nervous, so it made Jimmy nervous by association.

Once all the morning’s chores had been seen to Jimmy sought out Thomas; he was in their usual spot in the yard, a cigarette that was mainly ash hanging from his lips, the letter dangling from the fingers of his half-gloved hand. He was so lost in thought he didn’t notice Jimmy approaching until the footman was almost close enough to touch him.

Thomas’s head snapped up and he scrubbed a hand over his face, knocking ash from his cig down his livery. His eyes were red-rimmed - he’d been crying. Jimmy felt like he’d been hit by a car.

“Thomas?” Jimmy said, “What’s wrong?”

Wordlessly the under-butler handed the letter off to Jimmy. It was from _Turner and Parkinson’s_ , a legal firm in Manchester. Panic rose in Jimmy’s throat like bile and he read as quickly as he could, skimming the jargon until he found the pertinent paragraph; “Dear Mr Barrow...and so on...blah blah...oh! Sorry to inform you...Mr Reginald Thomas Barrow passed away...” Jimmy’s mouth dropped open - it had to be Thomas’s father. “Oh Thomas, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t know why I’m upset really,” Thomas replied, “hadn’t seen him since I was fourteen and there weren’t any love lost between us.”

“Still, your father is your father, whatever went on between you,” Jimmy said. Thomas just shook his head so Jimmy continued reading. “Hey, it says here there’s a reading of the will on Friday next week.”

“Yes, I saw that.”

“Are you goin’?”

Thomas stubbed out the dog-end of his cig on the wall and said; “No - he wouldn’t have left me anything. And even if he did, I don’t want it.”

Jimmy blinked; “Even if it’s a house or his clock shop or...”

“Even if it’s the King’s bloody crown,” Thomas spat, “I don’t want anything from that old bastard, dead or alive.”

“I’d take every bleedin’ penny,” Jimmy said quietly. He tried to hand the letter back to Thomas, but the under-butler waved him off.

“Throw it away will you?” he said, then; “I better get on.”

Jimmy watched as Thomas walked away; he could tell by the line of his shoulders that he was upset over the whole thing. He slid the letter into his jacket pocket, just in case.

“Thomas?” Jimmy called after him, searching for something to say that might be of comfort. “Um, good riddance then.”

Thomas looked scandalised.

“Not you!” Jimmy held his hands up, realising how it had sounded. “Your dad, I mean. If he hurt you then good riddance to him.”

“Thanks, I think,” was his reply.

Jimmy tried to engage Thomas all day but the under-butler was in a foul mood. He snapped at Daisy and shouted at Alfred and jumped down Baxter’s throat when she attempted to offer her condolences - and was generally unpleasant to be around. More so than usual.

Thomas refused cards after supper and disappeared out to the yard earlier than he usually did. Jimmy followed him out, worried.

“Jimmy,” he said, sitting on an old crate, “I’d rather be alone if it’s all the same to you.”

“So you can sulk and get more miserable than you already are?” Jimmy plopped down next to him, “Don’t think so.”

Thomas gave him a withering look.

“I’ll cheer you up,” Jimmy continued.

“I don’t need cheering up because I’m not upset.”

“So, err,” Jimmy drummed his fingers on the side of the crate. “Oh! Ok, so a man walks into this house of ill repute right? And he says to the bloke runnin’ it _“What’s the best thing I can get for a pound”_ and the man says to go upstairs and into the first room on the right...”

“Jimmy,” Thomas sighed.

“No, listen,” Jimmy continued, “so he goes into the room and there’s a chicken in there. So the guy - y’know - _does it_ with the chicken. But he’s not happy with his experience because, it’s a chicken right?”

Thomas wordlessly lit a cigarette.

“Anyway, he asks for his money back but the bloke runnin’ the house says he can’t have it but he can try the next room for free instead. So he goes in the second room on the right and there’s a few blokes in there lookin’ through peepholes at like, a load of men and women doin’ it in the next room. And he goes _“wow, this is amazin’”_ and one of the other guys goes _“yeah, but you should’ve been here earlier, there was a man doin’ it with a chicken!”_ ” And he broke down into laughter.

Thomas didn’t laugh. He stared at Jimmy like he’d grown a second head.

“You’ve...heard that one before then?”

Silence.

“Ah, ok well,” Jimmy thought - he’d read somewhere that giving someone a compliment was a good way to cheer them up. “Y’know Thomas, you’re, um, a good mate.”

“...Thanks.” He didn’t sound very cheered.

“I’m glad we’re friends now.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I mean you’re very...um, clever.”

Thomas gave him a sideways glance.

“And y’know, um, handsome. With the hair and the eyes and the...uh, lips.” It was true, he did have the most distracting lips. 

Thomas blinked and took a very long drag on his cigarette before saying; “Whatever you’re doing Jimmy, stop it.”

“I’m not _doing_ anything,” he lied, “can’t one bloke give his best and only mate a compliment?”

Thomas didn’t even bother to answer. It wasn’t working.

If Jimmy ever felt sad when he was a lad he used to get a hug from his mum and it never failed to cheer him up. Jimmy swallowed hard - was he really going to hug Thomas bloody Barrow? He leaned in, put one arm around Thomas’s shoulder and squeezed. Thomas went still and rigid, like an animal caught in the headlamps of a motor.

“Jimmy,” he said around his cig, “what are you doing?”

“I’m giving you a hug,” Jimmy replied, as if it were the most normal thing in the world to be sitting in the dark servant’s yard with his arm around Thomas. But the strangest part was that it _did_ feel normal. Better than normal - it was _nice_.

“...Why?”

“Because you’re my dearest friend and you’re sad.”

“I’m not sad,” Thomas said, “I’m confused and a bit worried for your sanity.”

Jimmy huffed, “Are you saying my hugs aren’t nice?”

“I’m not having this conversation.”

But Thomas didn’t leave and he didn’t try to dislodge Jimmy’s arm. They sat in silence for a while, Thomas smoking and Jimmy looking up at the stars. It was a clear night and Jimmy was getting cold, but he didn’t want to leave his best pal out alone with his sad, depressing thoughts. So instead he leaned in to Thomas for warmth - and was pleasantly surprised when Thomas leaned almost imperceptibly closer too. Jimmy chanced at look at the under-butler’s face - his lips were pursed around his cig, his eyes bright like he’d somehow managed to trap the moon in his irises. His cheeks were pink, but Jimmy didn’t know if that was because of their proximity or the chill in the air.

Of course, Thomas probably still had feelings for Jimmy. Soppy, loving feelings.

It was odd. At first the thought of Thomas wanting him had made Jimmy hot and nervous and uncomfortable. Now though, now he knew Thomas, it was comforting.

Maybe that’s what was needed to comfort Thomas. Love.

Jimmy swallowed - not that he _loved_ Thomas or anything. Well, obviously he did in a manly, friendly, brotherly sort of way. And, yes, Thomas was incredibly handsome - so much so that sometimes Jimmy found it hard to breathe when he saw him, like something had pulled tight in his chest. But anyone with eyes could see the under-butler was sexy. It didn’t mean anything at all.

Not sexy. Handsome. Which was a normal thing to think about ones best friend.

And he did think it - he thought about Thomas in general all the time. But in all honestly who else was worthy of his thoughts? Ivy? Daisy? As if. Didn’t mean he loved Thomas or anything.

And if he touched himself with Thomas’s name on his lips, well that was just...well...

... _shite_.

He couldn’t. It was unthinkable.

Shite. _He did_.

He had bleedin’ warm, soppy, loving feelings towards Thomas. And thinking of Thomas hurting or being upset - it hurt Jimmy too.

Because he was in love with Thomas.

“Thomas,” Jimmy said after some time. Jimmy wasn’t sure if it had been ten minutes or an hour. All he knew was how warm his side was where he was pressed against Thomas and how his heart was hammering in his chest. “Talk to me.”

Thomas sighed and let his cigarette drop to the ground. “I’m angry at myself for caring,” he said. “My dad threw me out just for being who I am. I should’ve been his apprentice, he was supposed to train me up to run the clock business. But he,” he rubbed his face with the back of his hand, “he threw me out. He said I was disgusting. An abomination. _Foul.”_

“You’re not,” Jimmy pulled Thomas into a proper hug and the under-butler buried his face in Jimmy’s shoulder. “You’re many things Thomas - sarcastic, sly, quick-witted, precocious - but never foul. Not to me. _I_ love you.”

“If you do, you’re on your own,” Thomas said and Jimmy remembered the conversation they’d had when he’d first started at Downton. God, he’d been so stupid back then. He didn’t intend to make the same mistake again.

“Thomas,” Jimmy pulled back so he could look at Thomas. The under-butler’s eyes were glassy and his jaw was clenched. “I mean it.” And he laid soft kissed on Thomas’s cheek, along his jaw and eventually on the corner of his mouth. “I’m not much good at this comforting business, but I’m thinking that should cheer you up.”

Thomas smirked and said; “I’m still very sad. Perhaps you should do it again.”

“Cheeky sod,” Jimmy replied, but he leaned in and kissed Thomas again and again and again.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a little bit inspired by too many readings of The Diary of Jimmy Kent


End file.
